


The Color Yellow | Georgie Denbrough

by AestheticWritingPro



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adorable Georgie Denbrough, Angst, Bill Denbrough Misses Georgie Denbrough, Bill Denbrough Needs a Hug, Bill Denbrough is a Good Friend, Dead Georgie Denbrough, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Everyone is Alive Except Georgie Denbrough, F/M, Gay Bill Denbrough, Gay Richie Tozier, Gay Stanley Uris, Georgie Denbrough is Missing, Grief, M/M, Mentioned Georgie Denbrough, Minor Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Original Character(s), Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Flirts, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Sad, Sad Bill Denbrough, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sassy Stanley Uris, Soft Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris is So Done, Stanley Uris is a Good Friend, georgie denbrough/OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24584191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AestheticWritingPro/pseuds/AestheticWritingPro
Summary: ⓄⓞⓄ'' YELLOW WASHIS FAVORITECOLOR! ''ⓄⓞⓄAfter the death of her best friend, Summer Anderson made it a personal goal to remember everything Georgie loved. That's why everyday she would stop by the boy's house and leave an object that always happened to be yellow. Nobody ever seemed to understand the girl's intentions, and they were all confused when she left different yellow items. Some believed that it was her way of coping through Georgie's death and others thought she was waiting for him to walk out the door like old times, nobody ever had the nerve to speak to her about it though. The only person who eventually caught on to the girl's actions was Bill Denbrough.ⓄⓞⓄDisclaimerTHE CHARACTERS FROM IT BELONG TO STEPHEN KING.THIS PLOT BELONGS TO @ alosersworld on Wattpad.ENJOY!ⓄⓞⓄ
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ⓄⓞⓄ
> 
> FACECLAIMS:
> 
> Young! Kiami Davael  
> AS  
> Summer Anderson
> 
> Jaeden Martell  
> AS  
> Bill Denbrough
> 
> Wyatt Oleff  
> AS  
> Stan Uris
> 
> Finn Wolfhard  
> AS  
> Richie Tozier
> 
> ⓄⓞⓄ

ⓄⓞⓄ

_ **THE BOAT** _

ⓄⓞⓄ

The first time Bill found something yellow on his porch, he hadn't been quite sure what to do with it.

After all, there wasn't much use for a poorly-made paper boat. All it did for him was stir up bad memories. The thick construction paper felt heavy in his hands as he stood on his front steps, staring at it like it had some deeper meaning— and perhaps it did. He just wasn't sure yet exactly what that meaning was.

Part of him wanted to just throw it away. He was on his way to hang out with Richie Tozier and Stan Uris, and he was in a hurry. He didn't want to take it with him. But it reminded him of his little brother, and there would always be that small part of him that would never let go of his memory. So Bill carried the boat into his house, closing the door behind him and walking up the stairs to his room. He glanced around the messy area for a moment, and had that dull thought that some teenagers had—

_I should clean my room._

But there was never any motivation behind that thought, really, was there? No teenager _actually_ took their own advice and cleaned their room without being asked. The one exception to this might have been Eddie Kaspbrak, who claimed to be absent from their get-together today for this very reason, although it was more likely because his mother had taken over his life ever since the events that had taken place earlier this summer.

Bill strode absently over to the crumpled heap of yellow material, still slick with grime and crusted with red at the shoulder of one sleeve. He brushed his fingertips over the rain jacket, heart aching a bit, before he rested the yellow boat atop it, forcing a small smile. It almost blended in, and as he backed towards his door, nearly tripping over his scattered clothes, he could hardly tell the difference.

With one more long, lasting look, the sole remaining Denbrough sibling turned and ran out of his house, swinging his leg over his trusty bike and pedaling off towards the quarry. Wind whipped his hair out of his face, plastering it against his head as clouds cumulated over his head. It wouldn't be long before it started to rain. As Bill reached the peak of the hill he had been powering upwards, there was a distant shout.

"Hey, look who finally decided to join the party!" A small smile tugged at Bill's lips as he sailed down the hill, coming to a skidding stop next to the two boys at the bottom of the hill. "What gives, Big Bill? Were you thinking about ditching us just like Eds and the rest of the gang?"

"W-W-Was not, Trashmouth," Bill retorted, letting his bike fall onto its side once he had wheeled it out of the road. He turned to face Richie Tozier, who was grinning from ear to ear. His gaze shifted to Stan Uris, who was also smiling as he shoved a few curls out of his face.

"I think what Richie is _trying_ to say," the third boy began with his arms folded over his chest, "is that _you're late._ " He raised his eyebrows as the bespectacled boy, who just shrugged, snickering. Bill smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck as he started down the path to the quarry. His friends fell into step behind him as they so often did, though he hadn't said anything.

"It looks like it's going to rain," Stan observed quietly, pointing up at a patch of the sky that was visible through the green of the trees. "Maybe we should come back another time."

"Hey, just because _you're_ too chicken shit to jump doesn't mean we're gonna turn back now, Stan The Man," Richie jeered, running a little bit ahead.

He would come back. He always did.

"After all, a little rain never hurt anyone. We're going to get wet _anyway_." Sure enough, Richie came tottering back and fell into place behind Bill, glancing around the forest.

"Shut up, Richie," Stan scoffed. "You know what I mean. We could catch colds or something."

"Oh, God," Richie groaned. "You sound like Eddie. We don't need another hypochondriac in town, okay, Stanley?"

"Oh, don't even try, we all know you'd love it if there were two Eddies," Stan replied sharply. Bill stared into the trees, hardly listening, but somehow taking it all in at the same time. The snapping branches and crunching twigs under their sneakers caused him to jump every few minutes, but he pressed on until the ground under his feet was stone and the view before him was the edge of a cliff.

"You don't know me!" Richie was snarking as they entered the clearing. Bill stumbled forwards as a weight landed on his back and a pair of skinny arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Does he, Billy Boy?"

"Guh-Get off of me, Richie!" Bill tried to shake him off, laughing. "I'll th-throw you over the e-e-eh-edge!"

"Arrrggh, then ye'd best be ready fer me to be takin' ye wit' me, lad!" Richie shouted in a bad pirate voice, tightening his grip. Bill went slack and fell backwards on top of his friend. "Oof!" All of the breath left Richie's chest in a rush of air, and Bill took the opportunity to slip out from between his friend's arms and jump to his feet.

"Agh, you play dirty!" Richie complained breathlessly, pushing his wild curls out of his face and sitting up. Bill just smirked, shrugging his shoulders and pulling his shirt over his head. The other two boys followed suit, dressing down to their underwear.

The bandages that had been wrapped around Stan's head were gone, but there were still light marks in their places along his cheeks and chin. Bill watched as the dull grey light hit them, showing off the patches of skin that were paler than the rest. He wrenched his gaze away, guilt bubbling in his stomach. He thought about the boat on his doorstep, and Georgie's raincoat, still grimy and covered in blood— Georgie's blood. It made his stomach churn. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and walked over to the edge of the quarry, peering down at the water below. A single drop of rain hit his bare shoulder, and he glanced upwards, resulting in two more hitting his face— one on his forehead, the other on his nose.

"S-S-Suh-Something weird happened," he said suddenly, before he could stop himself. "Before I l-l-left t-today." He could almost feel both of his friends stiffening behind him, and he flinched, turning around to see them staring at him with huge, terrified eyes. Richie looked pale. Stan looked about ready to pass out.

_Lord, help us,_ Bill thought guiltily, biting his lip. _Just the thought of something weird has us all on edge._

"Nuh-not w-w-weird like th-that," he clarified quickly, stumbling over his words a bit more than normal. He swallowed thickly, but the lump in his throat only grew. The rain started to fall steadily now, and he could feel his hair getting heavier, starting to stick to his head. Neither of his companions looked reassured. "Just w-w-weird like nuh-nuh-normal."

"Jesus, would you just spit it out, Bill?" Richie asked desperately. "Weird like normal or not, we want to know what happened."

"Do we?" Stan countered immediately, and Bill jumped. He had almost forgotten the boy could speak, he had been so silent for so long. Stan glanced around uncertainly. "I-I mean, do we? Do we want to know?"

"I-I'd like to t-tell you," Bill replied quietly, now much more unsure of himself than he had been before. It really wasn't the weirdest thing in the world, now that he'd thought about it— they'd all definitely seen weirder. It was just slightly odd.

"What is it?" Richie asked quietly, getting to his feet and brushing the dust off of his bottom. Stan remained sitting, gaze locked on the ground. Bill understood his sensitivity, but it still hurt a little bit, nonetheless. They were best friends. He was supposed to be able to tell him everything.

Bill shook his head to clear it and took a deep breath. "W-We-Well, I opened the d-duh-duh-door to leave, and there wuh-was this— this boat. A puh-puh-paper one, luh-like the one I m-made with Juh-Juh-Juh-Georgie the day he... died," Bill finished carefully. He had been working on his acceptance lately. Seeing Georgie in the sewers had been a huge wake-up call if Bill had ever seen one. It felt so much more real.

"That's weird," Stan said carefully, and Bill nodded in agreement.

"Yeah," he said. "But wh-who do yuh-yuh-you think would have l-l-l-left it?"

"I can think of someone!" Richie said immediately, thrusting his hand into the air. Bill shook his head, scowling at the boy. Rain flew off the tips of his hair with every movement. It was coming down hard. Their clothes were folded under the trees, but soon even they would be wet, too. "It could have been the cl—"

"The clown is _dead_ , Richie!" Stan interrupted firmly, his voice almost lost under the distant rumbling of thunder. "It's _over_!"

"How do you know?" Richie cried, throwing his arms up into the air. "How do you _know_? Did you see it die? Because I didn't! I saw him fall further into the well. But I didn't see him die. Did you?" He sounded near-hysterical.

"E-E-Everyone calm duh-down!" Bill roared. They both looked at him with wide eyes where he stood in the rain with a grim expression and shaking hands.

"Sorry, Bill," Richie muttered.

"Sorry," Stan relented, averting his eyes once again.

"It's o-okay," Bill forgave them, sighing. "I'm confused, t-too. B-b-but I duh-duh-duh-don't think it was the c-cl-clown. It didn't _f-f-feel_ like him." They remained silent for a few seconds, deep in thought. Bill thought about the boat, poorly-made and sitting safe in his room that very second. He thought of its vibrant yellow color. But most of all, he thought of the absence of one emotion in particular when he picked it up. The absence of the one thing that would have left no question in his mind as to who was responsible.

There was no fear.

They didn't go swimming in the quarry that day. They put their clothes back on and went to Bill's house. After they had all dried off from the downpour and Richie stole a coke from the cooler in the garage, they filed into Bill's room to observe the boat itself.

"It looks like it was made by a kindergartener," Richie scoffed, flicking it.

"H-hey! Be c-cuh-cuh-careful," Bill scolded, grabbing the boat and holding it close. Stan reached out for a look and Bill handed it to him gently, watching it closely as his friend examined it. Both Stan and Richie's gazes kept drifting to Georgie's filthy jacket, but Bill ignored them, choosing to focus on the boat.

"He's right," Stan pointed out, squinting at it. "It's made out of... What is this? Construction paper? I haven't used this since I was in elementary school." Richie gasped dramatically, placing his hand on his chest.

"Are you calling construction paper unprofessional, Stanley?"

"Shove off, Trashmouth."

There was a knock on the door that caused them all to jump. They exchanged long glances, and Bill sighed, calling for whoever it was to come in. His mother peeked in, her dull eyes seeing right through him as usual.

"Hey, honey," she said softly. "Don't go outside till it stops raining. I don't want you to catch a cold."

"O-o-okay, Mom," Bill replied stiffly. As his mother turned away, his father poked his head in, glancing around the messy room, and once again, Bill had that thought.

_I should clean my—_

"Bill, you don't have to send them home now, but before they can come over again I want this absolute _pit_ cleaned up. Understand?"

Bill sighed, looking down at the bright yellow boat as Stanley handed it back to him. It burned a hole in his mind, and for a moment, he couldn't take his eyes off of it. It was as if the rest of the world had just faded away. Then he snapped back into reality, slowly lifted his gaze to meet his fathers, and spoke grimly.

"Yes, sir."

ⓄⓞⓄ


	2. Chapter 2

ⓄⓞⓄ

_**THE FLOWER** _

ⓄⓞⓄ

The next time something yellow appeared on Bill's porch, he started to understand.

He walked outside and almost stepped on it, a sharp gasp being ripped from his lungs as he lurched backwards and stared down at his front step. He had been confused for a second, bending down and picking it up slowly, turning it over in his hands, but after looking at it a bit closer, he began to smile. He glanced around, but the only people he could see were the silhouettes of a young girl being led by the hand of her mother. He could see the matching yellow flower tucked behind her ear when she looked back with a dazzling smile, and his heart melted a little bit, despite the fact that he still didn't quite get it.

He looked down at the plant in his hand, and couldn't resist the urge to sniff it. In Bill's opinion, all flowers smelled the same— but this one seemed to be just a little bit sweeter. He was supposed to be on his way to open house for the new school year, but he dashed back into the house, rummaging through closets and cabinets for a vase. Eventually, he settled on a tall cup. He filled it with water and placed the flower into it, fingertips brushing the petals softly. He smiled the whole way up the stairs, careful not to spill, and walked into his freshly cleaned room.

Unsure of where to put the new offering, he cleared off a portion of his desk and put it down there, before folding Georgie's jacket and moving it behind the flower. He placed the boat beside them as well, then stood back. The yellows all blended together nicely. He actually quite liked it.

"Bill, honey, we're gonna be late!" His mother shouted up the stairs. Bill turned on his heels and ran out of his room, meeting her at the front door. She seemed to be in a good mood today, which was rare— she smiled and smoothed Bill's hair down atop his head, patting his cheek before leading the way out the door.

"Are you excited?" She asked, once they were in the car and on their way to the high school.

"Yes," Bill replied truthfully. He was excited to leave the middle school. It held nothing but bad memories for him and his friends. It was the school he had been in when he was informed that his brother had gone missing. It was the school that Henry Bowers had terrorized them in for three years. It was the school some of the worst teachers in the world worked at, although that was the least of Bill's worries.

Needless to say, he was excited for a fresh start in a new building that wouldn't haunt his nightmares, without a bully to haunt his waking days. Hopefully he would have classes with his friends that were run by teachers better than the ones they'd previously dealt with.

When Bill's mother pulled into the school parking lot, Bill spotted Stan right away. He was out of the car practically before it had even stopped. He ran over quick as he could, greeting his friend warmly.

"Hey, Bill!" Stan replied, smiling. "Are you excited?"

"Yes!" Bill replied to the question once again, looking up at the unfamiliar building. "Nuh-No more Bowers, no more st-st-stupid teachers. How about y-y-you? Are you e-excited?" They started to walk towards the building, their mothers falling back to talk with each other quietly from a distance.

"Sure," Stan said, shrugging his shoulders. "It'll be nice not to have to deal with Mr. Amberson anymore, that's for sure." There was a high-pitched shriek from across the front lawn, and both boys' heads turned. "That sounded like Eddie." Bill nodded silently, and their gazes found exactly what they were looking for.

Sure enough, there he was. Eddie Kaspbrak, stuck under his idiot best friend's arm.

"Richie is going to be the death of that poor boy," Stan shook his head, chuckling as they entered the building and their friends passed out of sight. Bill laughed too, glancing up at the other people flooding in.

"H-He loves him, th-th-though," he mused, glancing back at the entrance. Neither of the boys were in sight yet. "Wuh-We all do."

"Not as much as he does," Stan muttered under his breath. Bill elbowed him in the side, but he was unable to keep the smile off of his face. "Ow!" Stan complained, rubbing the spot where he had been hit.

"D-Dont be a buh-baby," Bill retorted, grabbing his wrist so he wouldn't lose him in the growing crowd. "I got another th-thing on my p-p-p-porch today." He said it lightly, because he didn't want to alarm his friend. Stan still wasn't convinced that this was normal. Bill already liked whoever was doing it, though. He thought the flower was beautiful.

"You have to be careful about this, Billy," Stan warned softly, voice hushed so others wouldn't hear him. "Have you told Richie?"

"Nuh-nope," Bill replied, popping the 'p' casually. "Found it o-on my p-p-porch before I l-luh-left for this. Saw y-you first, t-told you first."

"Well, what was it?" Stan pressed. They were flooding into the auditorium now, and everyone was trying to find a seat near a friend.

"A flower," Bill replied happily, smiling at the thought. "A p-p-pretty yellow one."

"Oh." Stan seemed to relax a little, expression softening. "That's... Really nice, actually." Bill nodded in agreement, scanning the crowd.

"Hey, I see B-B-Beverly over th-there, but there aren't any suh-seats around her." He pointed out the head of flaming red hair in the middle of the crowd so Stan could see. As if on cue, she turned, and their gazes met. Both boys waved, and she waved back smiling.

"Let's find somewhere to sit." Stan twisted his wrist from Bill's grip and grabbed his hand loosely, leading him through the crowd. They ducked around people, weaving between small groups, and finally settled on two seats on the outer edge of a row close to the middle. There was one seat left between them and another group of students who looked a bit older.

Bill let his gaze wander now. Their mothers had found seats further back, still chatting away. He looked at the entrance and saw Richie burst in, a very annoyed brunet still tucked into his side. Bill tried not to laugh as Eddie finally wrenched himself away and shoved the curly-haired boy, brushing off his shirt and straightening his fanny pack. He seemed to say something harsh that was lost under the noise of the crowd, and Richie deflated, grin fading.

Bill's brow furrowed. This didn't seem like a normal fight between the two. Then Eddie's expression seemed to soften. He rolled his eyes and beckoned Richie over. Bill smirked, shaking Stan and pointing. His friend turned and they watched as Eddie said something, made a face, and stood extremely still as Richie placed a big, sloppy kiss on his cheek.

"Eurgh, Eddie is going to be washing his face for an hour when he gets home," Stan chuckled, turning back around and settling back in his seat.

"Or not," Bill pointed out. "Muh-Maybe he's so in l-l-love that he's gonna nuh-nuh-nuh-never wash his face a-again."

"Shut up, you sound like Richie," Stan groaned. Bill laughed, shaking his head and throwing his arm around his friend's shoulders. Stan leaned in and they sat like that for a while, mumbling little theories as to what had gone down between Eddie and Richie that left them giggling like idiots.

After a while, the auditorium fell under a hush. The teachers at the front stirred, getting ready to welcome everyone. Bill sat up, removing his arm from Stan's shoulders and directing his attention back to the front, but Stan remained close, leaning against Bill softly.

"Who do you think left those things on your porch?" He asked quietly, and Bill immediately thought of the little dark-skinned girl with the flower behind her ear. He smiled, resting his head against the top of Stan's, and sighed contentedly.

"I d-d-dont know, Stanny. Buh-but whoever it is h-h-h-has a b-big heart."

ⓄⓞⓄ


	3. Chapter 3

ⓄⓞⓄ

_**THE DRAWING** _

ⓄⓞⓄ

Summer Anderson didn't quite understand what was going on the first time she heard his name after he went missing.

George Denbrough had been her best friend ever since kindergarten. He was easily the oldest in their grade. His birthday was only a few days after the school year started. The first time she had ever walked up to him and asked him his name, he was already 5 years old while most of the other kids were only 4. He knew how to tie his shoes, and count to 100, and write his name.

He even knew how to make paper boats.

He was the one who taught Summer how to make her very first paper boat. She never really got the hang of it. Her folds were always crooked and slanted.

"That's okay!" Georgie would tell her enthusiastically, even though his were always much neater. "You're getting better, I can already tell. Let's make another one!"

They did everything together when they were in school. They even sat at the same table. Through the years, they continued to be placed in the same classes. They had the same first grade teacher, marking their 1 year anniversary of best friendship on the day Georgie turned 6 before anyone else in their class. September 18th was the earliest birthday out of anyone in their grade.

After his 6th birthday, Georgie came to school the next day in a bright yellow raincoat. It was shiny, squeaky clean, and brand new. He wore it _everywhere_. He took it off indoors, but as long as they were outside, it was how you could most easily pick him out of a crowd. Georgie loved that coat because he could do everything in it. He could play in it in the sun, and he could play in it in the rain, and those were everything to him.

But he loved it most of all because it was _yellow_.

Summer liked to think that she knew more about her friend than anyone in the world— In fact, she was sure even now that she still did— and the thing that Georgie was always most excited to do was to use the color yellow. He drew everything in yellow. He wrote his name in yellow marker, he colored all of his paper boats yellow, he would collect the yellow dandelions every day at recess (usually he gave them to Summer with a shy smile and called them 'bouquets').

One day in October of second grade, when Georgie was 7, he drew a picture of himself and Summer in matching yellow raincoats. They were holding hands. It was raining, but the sun was out (also drawn in yellow) and there was a big rainbow over them. That was the first day that he ever went to Summer's house. He told her that he really wanted to give her a letter, so he put the drawing in an envelope and his mother drove him to deliver it. They spent the afternoon together discussing the drawing, and making more like it— thy also made boats, because you could never have enough practice (Summer's were as messy as ever).

Summer didn't know that when Georgie was leaving her house that day, it was the last time she was ever going to see him.

It rained hard that night all into the next week, and school was canceled because the streets were flooding and it wasn't safe for people to go out. Summer had been a little disappointed, because she was working on a picture for Georgie— It was a picture of them wearing _purple_ raincoats, because that was what color she had, and purple was _her_ favorite color. He had helped her draw it, but that was okay. Her mother had given her an envelope to put it in, and she was so excited to drop it off.

A week went by, and school was going to be starting back up the next day. Summer had put a stamp on her letter and everything, printing Georgie's name in as neat handwriting as she could with a yellow heart, because yellow was his favorite color. When she ran downstairs to remind her mom about dropping it off the next day, she was on the phone. Summer knew to be quiet when her parents were speaking on the telephone— she had learned that in school. So she waited, doodling on a piece of notepad paper with her purple crayon.

"Summer, honey?" Her mother had said in a gentle voice when she was done with the telephone. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" She sat down in the chair beside her daughter, and Summer looked up, holding her envelope close to her. This was the same voice her mother had used before telling her that their cat, Mr. Sunshine, had run away.

"What's wrong, Mommy?" Summer asked, looking up at the woman with big eyes. Her mother hadn't cried since Mr. Sunshine ran away, either. "Why are you crying?" Her mother had reached out and pulled her close, hugging her tightly. Summer wrapped her arms around her neck, hugging back as tight as she could. Her heart was beating a little faster now. She didn't understand what was happening.

"It's gonna be okay, baby," Her mother was assuring her through tears. Summer felt herself begin to cry as well.

"What's going on?" She asked again, sniffling. "What happened?" Her mother pulled back and cupped her face in her hands, looking her in the eyes with tear-stained cheeks.

"Georgie is missing, sweetheart. He's gone."

Summer didn't understand for a long time what that actually meant. Her envelope collected dust in the corner of her room as she went to school day after day, waiting for her friend to come back. She almost expected him to just show up some day out of the blue— But the seat next to her remained empty from day to day. For almost a month the swing next to her at recess was empty, before the other kids forgot all about it and started using it as if it had never been Georgie's favorite in the first place.

It felt like everyone forgot. It had only been a month. Summer still thought there was a chance that he would come back, but when she asked her mother if they had found him yet, she had just given her a sad look and told her that Georgie had died. He wasn't coming back.

Death seemed like such a permanent state of being that Summer hadn't believed it at first. The rest of the school year went by, and Georgie still hadn't come home. Summer was starting to think that maybe he had moved— There was no way he was _dead_ , after all. Only old people died. Georgie wasn't old.

The first time Summer actually went to his house to see, she didn't bring anything. She thought she'd walk up to his door and he'd open it with a big smile and they'd go play like old times. When his mother answered the door and closed it in her face after she asked for her friend, Summer went home with tears in her eyes and a broken heart.

Maybe Georgie really was gone.

The next day, she brought the first boat they ever made together. It was made of bright yellow construction paper, and even though it was more than two years old, she had taken special care to make sure it stayed in top condition. They had written their names on the inside and folded it so that they'd have to take it apart to see them— She wasn't sure why, because she never wanted to take this apart, but here she was, giving it away. What if his mom just threw it out?

But the next day, when she left a yellow flower from the little garden she had grown from the seeds he had given her for her birthday, she knew that her boat had been kept safe. Georgie's mother was not the one who opened the door. It was his big brother. She had smiled at him, and she thought maybe he had smiled, too— Later that day, Summer went home and her mother helped her make a crown out of the flowers from Georgie's garden in their back yard. His garden, not hers, because without him, it would never have existed.

Over the last few days of summer before third grade started, Summer never failed to leave a yellow object. She left a yellow truck, and a yellow marker with a piece of paper in case Georgie opened the door and decided to draw something with it (although she knew that probably wouldn't happen). One time she even left a cupcake with yellow frosting. She hoped somebody had taken that before it went bad.

Summer felt that there was value to everything she had left on Georgie's doorstep, but she was running out of yellow things. There were only a few items left that she could think of that were really worthy of her best friend's memory. So she picked one, took a picture of it with her mom's camera so that she could still have one for herself, and the next day, she left Georgie's drawings of themselves in matching yellow raincoats on the porch of the Denbrough family's house.

ⓄⓞⓄ


	4. Chapter 4

ⓄⓞⓄ

_**THE CANDY** _

ⓄⓞⓄ

Bill really wanted to catch the person who was leaving these things behind in the act, but he was afraid that they would run away if he did so. He was almost _certain_ that it had been the little girl with the flower, but he hadn't seen her since, and he was afraid to ask around.

Something about her had seemed familiar. He had only seen her from afar. Bill had spent one of the last days before school started back up with Richie brainstorming where he may have seen her before, but the boy hadn't been very interested.

"I w-w-wonder if they were fr-friends and I just didn't p-p-p-pay enough attention to his l-life to notice who c-c-came home with him," Bill mused, staring up at the ceiling with his hands on his chest. He had cleaned his room and now he and Richie lay in opposite directions across his bed, contemplating. The latter of the two held a cigarette, despite Bill's pleads for him to keep it out of the house— but they opened a window, and he didn't think the smell would be too bad.

"Maybe I should ask Eds out on a date," Richie sighed. "Like, a real one. Not joking like I usually do."

"That has nuh-nuh-nothing to do with wh-why I asked you t-t-to come over," Bill pointed out, sitting up and watching his friend take a long drag on his cigarette. The wild-haired boy exhaled slowly, eyes rolling up into the back of his head as he let out a groan.

"Yeah, but my crisis is more important," he insisted. "This is just some weirdo leaving yellow things on your porch. For all we know, it could just be some big prank. _My_ problem is life or death."

"Ha!" Bill laughed sharply. "Is _n-n-not._ "

"Is, _too!_ " Richie retorted, sitting up as well and folding his legs beneath him. His brow furrowed. He was troubled, Bill could tell. His stomach churned a bit and he frowned, giving his full attention. Richie huffed, folding his arms across his chest and hunching his shoulders.

"Look," he began uncomfortably, crushing the end of his cigarette in an ash tray Bill had nicked from the coffee table, "it's no secret anymore that I like Eddie. I thought I was being sneaky, but Stan told me a few days ago that you two have been onto me since the beginning... and I'm not mad, if you're not."

"I'm n-n-not mad," Bill assured him. "I could _n-never_ be muh-mad for that."

_Because me, too. Just with someone else._

But he would never admit that.

"Okay," Richie said, and his muscles seemed to relax. He sat up a little bit straighter, still avoiding Bill's gaze. "Well, I don't know who else knows, but Eds definitely doesn't. He thinks this is all some sort of joke. And I mean, it _is_ , but it isn't, you know? And I want to tell him. But you know what he saw earlier this summer. You _know_ what he associates this sort of thing with." He rubbed his eyes under his glasses and buried his face in his hands, groaning. "God, he's going to think I'm sick, he's going to think I'm _disgusting_ —"

" _Ruh-Ruh-Richie,_ " Bill said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. He didn't look up, but he quieted down. Bill frowned, squeezing gently, then letting go. "He won't think y-you're suh-suh-sick. I th-think he likes you, t-t-t-too."

"That's bullshit," Richie grumbled, and when he finally looked up, his eyes were slightly red. "Absolute bullshit. No way."

"Way," Bill countered. "D-Do you th-th-think he would have let you k-kiss his cheek at open h-house if he was really _th-th-that_ against it?"

"You saw that?" Richie breathed, and suddenly his eyes weren't the only thing that were red. His cheeks seemed to be almost _glowing_. Bill laughed, and nodded faintly. "Oh God, that's embarrassing. Don't tell him you saw. He'd _kill_ me."

"I won't t-tell," Bill assured him. "But you _sh-sh-should._ T-Tell him you like him, I m-m-m-mean."

"Maybe," Richie relented, a slightly faraway look in his eyes. "You should, too. Tell Stan." Bill nearly choked on his own tongue, coughing violently and pounding his chest with his fist. Richie cackled, clutching his stomach and falling back against the bed.

"Sc-Screw off, Tozier!" Bill managed, instinctive tears building up in his eyes and threatening to spill as another bout of coughs wracked his body.

"No, but I'm serious!" Richie said once they had both calmed themselves down. "I'll tell if you do."

"Eh-Eh-Eddie and Stan are two _c-c-c-completely different people,_ " Bill said. "It's not the _s-suh-same._ "

"Yeah, because Stan is more likely to say _yes_ than Eds is," Richie told him. "Just ask him to go bird watching. Buy him something nice. He'll get the picture."

"I can't," Bill said, anxious energy beginning to build up in his stomach. "I _c-c-can't_."

"Okay, then I guess I won't, either," Richie said, shrugging. "I gotta go. Ma wants me home for dinner." He got to his feet, stretching rather dramatically with a loud grunt. "Walk me home, dear Billy, won't you?"

"You can wuh-walk _yourself_ home," Bill said, leading his friend down the stairs and over to his front door. "And you'd b-b-better tell Eddie soon, R-R-Rich. You're running o-out of t-t-time."

"I know," Richie sighed. "I'm just—" He put a hand on the doorknob and hesitated. Then he looked at Bill, and for a minute, he was so small. Bill looked back and he saw the raw fear in his friend's dark eyes. "I'm so _scared_."

Bill swallowed thickly, heart beating just a little bit faster. "W-W-Well," he said, managing a small smile, "if y-you can help kill a d-d-demonic clown and st-still find the st-st-strength to get up every muh-morning, what _can't_ you d-d-do?"

Richie smiled back, and his gaze cleared. He took a deep breath. "Thanks, Big Bill." The door swung open, and they both looked down at the doorstep. A bag of yellow salt-water taffee rested on the welcome mat. Bill leaned down, unfastened the twine and handed one to Richie.

"G-Go get him, Tuh-Tozier."

ⓄⓞⓄ


	5. Chapter 5

ⓄⓞⓄ

_**THE DUCK** _

ⓄⓞⓄ

Summer hadn't been expecting to run out of yellow ideas, but here she was with her only yellow rubber ducky sitting at the bottom of her box of yellow things.

She had begun collecting them just to leave them on Georgie's doorstep, and when you're small, an entire baggie of yellow things seems like it's going to last a lifetime. But it had only been a little over a week and a half, and this was her last option.

She wished she had saved something more meaningful for last, but she had gotten a bit over-excited when she had left the first few items.

Her mother had told her they couldn't buy any more things to leave for Georgie, so if she ran out of things on her own, that was it until something else caught her eye. She hadn't looked too happy when Summer decided to leave all of her drawings behind— but it wasn't the angry sort of unhappy, like when Summer and Georgie had drawn on the walls in kindergarten. It was the sad kind of unhappy. She asked multiple times if the young lady was _sure_ she wanted to leave these things behind, and Summer had insisted. Georgie deserved to have them.

Or, at least, his family did.

Summer had always looked up to Georgie's older brother when she went over to play. It only happened a few times, and she wasn't sure the older boy had even noticed she was there, but she always noticed _him_. One time, he had friends over, too. One of them, the littlest one, with brown hair and a funny little bag on his waist, had stopped to talk with her and Georgie.

"What are you guys doing?" He had asked, squatting down with them and looking at the mess of crayons and construction paper that had been cut every which way. Summer had glanced at Georgie, who nodded enthusiastically, then beckoned the boy closer. When he leaned in, she also leaned closer to whisper in his ear.

"We're practicing our paper-cutting to surprise his brother," she whispered. "We're making a yellow string of boats for him to hang in his room."

"Wow!" The boy had gasped. "That sounds pretty cool."

"Yeah," Georgie had agreed, nodding again. "But we"re having trouble. It's hard to remember how to cut it right, so that they still stick together."

"I'll bet it is," the older boy had agreed. "I can help, if you wa—"

"Hey Eds!" Another shrill voice had cut him off from up the stairs. "What are you waiting for? We're gonna start without you! I saved you a seat. My lap has got your name on it!" Then with a bubble of laughter, footsteps thundered back up the stairs. The brunet rolled his eyes with a huff and a soft grumble of, '— _Jesus, why does he have to be such a dick_ —' which she hadn't really understood, but he was standing up to leave before she could ask.

"Sorry," he apologized. "My friends are waiting for me. I won't tell Bill about your surprise." He smiled a little bit, fumbling with a little red container-like thing in his pouch. He put it in his mouth and it made a funny noise as he breathed in deeply and backed towards the stairs. "Good luck!" He said, before disappearing up to see his friends.

They never finished the chain, because Georgie had gone missing, and it was still at his house somewhere. Summer wondered if Bill had ever found out about it, or if he still had no idea, but either way, she didn't think it felt right to make a new one. That had been Georgie's gift to give, not hers. So a paper chain of boats had been crossed off her list.

The candy had been a lucky snag for her. They had seen it at the store, and there had been more colors than just yellow, but she ate all of those and left the pale colored snacks on Georgie's doorstep that evening. Her mother told her she had to stop leaving edible things, because what if the household had allergies, or didn't want any more food that would go to waste?

That crossed a lot more options off of Summer's list of possibilities.

So she stared down at her little basket of yellow objects, in which her rubber ducky was the only thing left, and she started to cry. She didn't stop when her mother came in to see what was wrong, or even when she tried to comfort her. She tried to stop on the car ride to Georgie's house, but she had a feeling she wasn't really succeeding, because her cheeks were just getting wetter with every passing minute.

When Georgie's house, big and white and the same as every other house on his street, came into view, she hiccuped a little bit and waited as her mother parked against the curb outside and came around to open the door for her. Gentle hands wiped her cheeks and dried them. She took deep breaths as directed, sniffling pitifully and hopping out onto the solid pavement.

She calmed down enough once she reached the front door to look up into the face of the boy who opened it just as she reached the top step.

"H-Hello..."

She clutched her rubber ducky as tightly as her little fingers would and stared at Bill Denbrough, who was regarding her with cautious eyes, but a pleasant smile. He didn't look angry— just curious. She tried to find her voice, stumbling over her words a bit, and he waited patiently, smile only seeming to grow.

"H-Hi," she replied nervously. "I'm Summer Anderson."

"I'm B-B-Bill," he said. "What's th-th-that?" He nodded to the duck, and she tensed, frowning deeply and looking down at the toy. She stroked its head gently, reaching up and rubbing her eyes under her little glasses.

"It's my rubber ducky," she answered. "I was going to leave it here."

"And d-d-did you leave the o-other things?" Bill asked. "Th-The boat, and the drawings? A-A-All of that?"

She nodded, averting her eyes and looking back down the driveway at her mother, who was watching with a small encouraging smile and a gentle nod. She took a deep breath and turned to face him again.

"Why?" He asked simply.

Summer frowned, brows knitting together on her forehead. Wasn't it obvious? It was to her. How else was she supposed to still feel like he was a part of her? How else was she still supposed to communicate with him, tell him she was still waiting for him? How else was she supposed to honor his memory?

But all that came out was not what she had really been thinking.

"Yellow was his favorite color."

Horrified with herself and the silence that followed, Summer shoved the duck into the older boy's hands, and left.

ⓄⓞⓄ


	6. Chapter 6

ⓄⓞⓄ

_**THE RAINCOAT** _

ⓄⓞⓄ

"I w-w-want to d-do something for her," Bill said, twisting his fingers together anxiously. "She l-looked so h-h-heartbroken, Stan. She was j-just a kid. She doesn't g-g-get it."

"No, I think she _does_ get it," Stan said. "That's why she's been leaving all this stuff, you know? It's her way of saying goodbye, I guess."

"Sh-She hasn't come by since," Bill fretted. "I'm w-worried that I sc-sc-scared her off."

"Oh, please," Stan chuckled. "You're the least scary person _ever_. I'm sure it's something else."

"I d-d-don't know," Bill mumbled, sitting up and looking across the water.

The quarry was empty that day aside from them, Richie, and Eddie, who were still horsing around in the deeper parts of the lake.

_Something_ had changed between them— all of the Losers could see it. Bill wasn't going to push Richie and ask what was going on. The boys would spill when they felt ready. But the look of absolute awe and love-sick disbelief on the taller teen's face as he watched Eddie thrash around a few feet away spoke a thousand words in and of itself.

And it wasn't the _only_ thing that had changed. A hesitant hand brushed against his own atop their little rock, and Bill felt his cheeks heat up as thin fingers tangled with his own. But a smile wrestled his concerned expression away, and he glanced at his partner, pleased to see a similar pink glow on _his_ cheeks.

"What were you thinking?" The boy asked, head tilting slightly. "Can I help?"

And the rush of affection that hit Bill in that moment was almost too much for him to handle. He was smiling so wide it hurt. He lifted Stan's hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, holding them there briefly and closing his eyes. His skin was cool against his lips.

"I h-h-have one idea."

ⓄⓞⓄ

Thirty minutes later, they had left their two friends alone at the quarry— something Bill had a feeling they might regret— and returned to the boy's house. Bill led his companion up to his room and his eyes immediately found what he was looking for. He grabbed the tattered material and thundered back down the stairs into the basement.

"How are you even going to find out where she lives?" Stan asked as Bill threw opened the washing machine and tossed the slicker in and poured in a bit of soap. "Whoa— _measure_ it, Bill, you _know_ what happened last time we let Richie run the washer—"

"I'm s-sure it's in my muh-muh-mom's address b-book," Bill said. "If they were f-friends, they must have h-h-had play dates, right?"

"I guess," Stan agreed. "What did she say her name was?"

"Suh-Suh-Summer," Bill answered. "Anderson."

"I'll go check," Stan said. "Your mom usually leaves her address book in the junk drawer, right?"

"Mm," Bill hummed, watching the washer intently as it began to jump to life, rumbling softly. "I'll c-come." They headed up the stairs together, and Bill let the way into the kitchen, jostling through the junk drawer and tossing things over his shoulders in his search.

"You'd better pick this up when you're done," Stan muttered under his breath.

"You sound l-l-like my m-mother."

He finally found what he was looking for and scurried back down into the basement, glancing around a bit uneasily. For a split second he thought he saw a flash of brown hair and a yellow slicker in the dark corner, and his heart leaped into his throat— but he looked again and nothing was there.

_The jacket is in the wash. Don't be stupid._

His hands were shaking so hard he almost couldn't read the book. Soft ones grabbed his own and steadied them. He looked up to see Stan standing very close, looking at him with concerned eyes. He drew the booklet away and flipped through it for him.

"There's a Sarah Anderson on here," he said. "Lives just a few streets away. Near Eddie's house, actually."

"O-Okay," Bill murmured. Stan looked up again, stepped closer, and suddenly, they were breathing the same air. Soft curls tickled his forehead. Cool fingers brushed his palms as the address book was returned to him. Bill swallowed thickly, and he felt like everything was slowing down.

_Closer_ —

The washing machine dinged, signaling the ten minute cycle was over. Bill was breathing again. He stepped back with a sharp exhale, searching Stan's eyes hesitantly, but he found that they were guarded, masked to the outside world. His heart felt like it was going to burst.

"W-Will you p-p-put this away?" He asked feebly, holding out the address book. Stan took it wordlessly and headed upstairs. Bill quickly switched the jacket over to the drier, but only for five minutes. It was meant to get wet, anyway. He just didn't want it to be soaked.

When Stan came back downstairs, they stood side by side in absolute silence and waited.

The washer dung three more minutes later, and Bill took a deep breath.

He wasn't sure he was ready to let go.

ⓄⓞⓄ

If there was one thing Summer had learned since running out of things to give her dead friend, it was that moving on was going to be harder than she thought.

She had never expected it to be so difficult to _stop_ thinking about something. Usually she had so many things to think of it was hard to choose. But now it just felt like there was only one and even when she _tried_ think about something else, she just couldn't.

She couldn't paint his house yellow, her mother had said that Georgie's parents wouldn't appreciate that.

She couldn't buy anything else, her mother had said she still wasn't allowed to do that.

She couldn't just keep drawing things— it wasn't the same as a physical gift.

She had run out of options.

When the doorbell rang and her mother called out to her, Summer had dared to hope. There was a little flicker of happiness in her chest that she could not stifle.

Georgie had come back. He was coming over to play and she was _finally_ going to get to mail him a letter.

Needless to say, when she ran out into the front hall and found two boys who were very much _not_ Georgie, she was very disappointed. But upon seeing who it _was_ , she felt a little bit better.

"Hi, Suh-Suh-Summer," Bill said, stepping inside. His friend stayed on the front step, watching, but Bill knelt down to her level. She approached slowly. He had something behind his back.

"Hi," she greeted cautiously. "Are you here to yell at me? I'm sorry I left things on your porch. I know Georgie didn't _really_ get all of the things I left. Please don't be mad."

Something flickered deep in the eyes of the older boy, and suddenly he looked so _crushed_ , so devastatingly sad. Summer frowned deeply, but he forced a smile, shaking his head.

"I'm not mad," he whispered, voice breaking a little bit. "Cuh-Come closer. I h-have something for you."

"For me?" Summer questioned, approaching. Her mother nudged her further still, and she stood only a foot or so away, digging her toe shyly into the carpet. He beckoned her closer with his free hand, and she took one final step to stand right in front of him.

"For you," he agreed. "I guh-got all of your gifts. For Juh-Juh-Juh-Georgie. I'm keeping them s-safe for him."

"Thanks," she said, and she smiled a little bit. That was nice of him, after all. "That's nice of you."

"Of course," he said, nodding. "B-But I wanted to give you th-this." He moved his hand from behind his back, and Summer stumbled back against her mother's legs, gasping.

For a split second, her best friend was standing in front of her in his favorite yellow jacket, smiling, waving, and asking if she could come out to play.

Then the image faded, and all that remained was the tattered, but clean yellow jacket, fabric swinging from his hand as he held it out. Summer stared at it for a long few seconds, hesitant. He leaned a little closer, nodding.

"G-Go on. For you."

She finally reached out, almost flinching away at the first brush of her fingers against the coat. Then she grasped it firmly, and took it from him, clutching it tightly in her hands and looking down at it with huge eyes.

"What do you say, baby?" Her mother murmured. Summer opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The tears were returning, filling her eyes, and she simply lurched forward, locking her arms around the teenaged boy in a furiously tight hug. She could feel him hugging her back just as tightly, and she cried into his shoulder, surely getting his shirt wet, but he didn't seem to mind.

Summer didn't stop crying until after he had left, but when she finally put an envelope into the mail addressed to her old friend's house with a photo of herself with a newly-repaired yellow jacket a week later, she felt that he knew well enough how thankful she was.

She never wanted to take it off.

ⓄⓞⓄ

Stan was at Bill's house when the letter arrived.

The stuttering boy looked at the photo for a long time with a faint smile and a heavy heart. His partner pushed his hair out of his forehead and cool lips touched his cheek.

"You did good, Billy."

The teen took a deep breath, putting the picture on the messy yellow paper boat so it would sit up straight and look back at him, smile growing. He turned his head a bit and gave the curly-haired boy a chaste kiss.

"I kn-know, Stanny. I th-th-think so, t-too."

ⓄⓞⓄ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⓄⓞⓄ
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed The Color Yellow! 
> 
> I know it wasn't your typical It fanfiction but this plot has stuck with my ever since I first saw it and I think it's a super cute idea. Anyway, that's it! That's the end! 
> 
> Feel free to check out Whoa, Baby! on my profile. It's a completed short fic.   
> A fix-it with your daily dose of Married Life Reddie
> 
> ⫷❍▨❍⫸
> 
> ❝ whoa, baby! slow down a sec—   
> who made you so damn insecure?  
> can't you see you're beautiful? ❞
> 
> ⫷❍▨❍⫸
> 
> in which a grown up richie tozier visits his  
> home town in search of an anniversary gift for his beloved   
> husband and takes a wrong turn—   
> right down memory lane
> 
> ⫷❍▨❍⫸
> 
> OR 
> 
> Check out Nine Chances. It's probably the greatest thing I've ever finished and written in my life. Richie has nine chances to save Eddie's life. It's one of those funky fresh time loop stories.
> 
> If you haven't already guessed, that one is NOT short and it is NOT sweet. It is REALLY f-ing long and it's really f-ing sad.
> 
> Ο Ο Ο
> 
> '' I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK   
> IS GOING ON, AND I'M REALLY   
> STARTING TO FREAK OUT! ''
> 
> Ο Ο Ο
> 
> In which Richie has nine chances to save Eddie's life.
> 
> Ο Ο Ο
> 
> So that's that! Those are my latest fics. I hope you're as happy with these as I am! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and wherever you are, make sure you drink water aaaaaa
> 
> ⓄⓞⓄ


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